Miss Me
by Tarnished Secret
Summary: Maybe…I wouldn’t even be missed at all if I were to die. Maybe I was giving myself more credit then I deserve by musing whether or not I would be missed like a machine that can easily be replaced. Perhaps I wouldn't be missed at all.


**Title: "Miss Me" **

**Rating: M, for mention of suicide. **

**Genre: Angst, Tragedy, for above reason. **

**Author: Winry the Alchemist**

**Dedicated to: Lyriel for the idea. And Freanch-fri-freak for inspiration. Read her "Miss Me"! **

Every day, in and out, working constantly, and egging people on to do the same. This is how I spend my days. This is how I lived.

I was a Lieutenant, and many people said I was very lucky to work with such well-known people as the Flame and FullMetal Alchemists. I, however, was not into alchemy. The thought of it scared me, as did the consequences Ed and Roy faced because of it. I was a coward.

Often I thought of my colleagues, and what they really thought about their stressful job. I had noticed that some people were very light, despite their job, making jokes on crime scenes where bloody carcasses lay. Havoc is like this, whereas myself, Fury, and Falman are focused on the job at hand. I couldn't tell you which is the better way to live, to hole it up inside, or crack jokes to relive the horror of the scene.

I have seen little girls who were transformed into horrible monsters, serial killers bent on killing my friends for the sake of "God's will", and lots of bloody messes. Everyone I work with has seen these too, but they do not let it affect them much. Oh, Ed did in the beginning, but he grew up fast for someone his age. Faster then me, at least.

Because I was having such a rough time dealing with things other people stomach without another thought, I was feeling ashamed. Ashamed that I wasn't nearly as helpful to the military as I thought I was. Ashamed that I was dead weight to everyone else. It did seem that the only thing I was good for was to shoot a gun, but honestly, anyone can do that. In fact, when I was little I was gun-shy. That was why I strived to become a great shot with a gun—to prove to myself that it was nothing. But I didn't know how to cure myself of this fear.

The fear of being useless. The fear of dying the next day. I have no doubt in my mind that I am nowhere near the only one who thinks these thoughts, but I grew up overcoming my fears, and the thought that I couldn't overcome these was just another fear to my list, more stress for my day.

I didn't want to resort to horrible things to relive stress like cutting. Wouldn't it be easier to just take **all **of the pain away at once instead of having to do it again and again? I thought so.

So, one night, as I was walking home from Central, I ducked into a small alley. There I saw a small dog, crying pitifully as it walked towards me. It reminded me of Black Hayate, who had been killed in a hit-and-run the previous month.

I felt that before I did anything, I needed to get this dog off my mind and off my conscience. Picking him up, he licked my hand and growled quietly, but the growl sounded reminiscent to a cat's purr, not a mean noise at all. I walked back to Central where Roy was staying late for once in his life. "Colonel," I addressed him, saluting.

"What is it Hawkeye? I thought you had left." He responded, not looking up from the papers on his desk.

"I was, sir, but I saw this dog and was wondering if you could give it a home." Roy snorted a little.

"Why don't you take it Lieutenant? You don't have Black Hayate anymore." I swallowed.

"Yes…But I don't think I'm…Ready for another dog." The colonel sighed.

"Fine. Take him to Fury, and tell him that if he can't find another home for it, I guess I'll take him." I gave a quick salute.

"Thank you sir."

"See you tomorrow, Hawkeye?" He asked, now shuffling the papers and putting them into a folder. I hesitated at the door.

"Yes, sir." I responded, but my voice faltered and he looked up. I saluted again quickly and walked out the door.

After giving the dog to Fury, who was staying late with Havoc, I walked out the door of Central again. As I past the dark alley I had found the dog in, I walked back to it and stared into the depths of it. I knew what I was going to originally do there, but the dog had ruined my plans, and I wasn't sure if I could do it again. Shaking my head in disbelief at my foolishness, I walked the rest of the way home, surprised that I had actually thought of committing suicide. And why should I? I had a great job, friends, and I was appreciated for all my hard work.

I stopped walking a block away from my apartment. That wasn't true…Was it? Had I ever heard a "Thanks, Hawkeye" for all the hard work and hours I put into my job? Had I ever been appreciated for giving up my social life for the sake of the State? I wasn't sure if I ever had heard any of that. I felt a chill run down my spine. If I were to disappear, I mused, would I be missed as a friend or missed as a good workforce gone, like I was a machine?

For the second time that night, I thought about suicide. I thought about finding out which of the two I would be missed as.

Looking up into the night sky, I saw all the clouds huddled against one another as it began to rain. I shivered, and ran the rest of the way to my apartment. Surely thinking about my predicament would be easier to do at home then in the street.

When I unlocked the door to my apartment, the first thing I noticed was that the phone was ringing. I hung up my jacket and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hawkeye, its Mustang. Did you take home the file for the Liore case?"

"No, Colonel, I left it with Fury and Havoc to look at. I finished writing the final report about two days ago." Inside I felt a little warmer. I had done a great job on the report, and was sure I was about to be praised for my fast working.

"Fury!" I heard Mustang yell quietly, as if he was talking while covering the phone with his hand. "Do you have the Liore case?" I smiled. Surely now Fury would give him the file and I'd get praised. There was a little noise on the other end as if Mustang had shifted his hand to pick up something. I also heard the noise of flipping pages. "Yes, Hawkeye, I have it right here. I'll see you tomorrow." And with that he hung up.

I hung up the phone quietly. He didn't even mention anything about how great the report was or how fast I had gotten it done, a good 3 days before he expected it. I felt like a million snakes were crawling on my skin. I really **wasn't **appreciated. All my hard work had gone unnoticed, just something else in the day, another file on the desk.

Maybe…I wouldn't even be missed at all if I were to die. Maybe I was giving myself more credit then I deserve by musing whether or not I would be missed like a machine that can easily be replaced. Perhaps I would be missed even less. Probably not missed at all.

I slowly walked to the kitchen and picked up a knife, looking at my reflection in the steel. Wait a second, I realized, shaking my head and grinning. This is stupid.

I pulled my gun from the holster. After all, guns are my specialty.


End file.
